2014.04.19 - Clowns, Cats, and Contracts
Within upstate New York, within the gated districts where only the most affluent can afford, is the residence of Shen Kuei. It is not publicized, but neither is it particularly hard to find. The Cat's real identity is not hidden, and Harley has more than enough connections through Gotham's underworld to find out his address. How to get over the pointy and elaborate black iron fence and the odd patrol of men with flashlights is entirely her business. The outer buildings are the mansions and singular estates. Within the middle are the ten story beautifully architectured apartment buildings, where those who wish for luxury and seclusion choose to reside. Shen Kuei is in one of those, taking up the entire top floor in a magnificent penthouse suite. There's a doorman, of course, and security guards. The elevator to his floor and front door can only be accessed if input. Cameras whirr everywhere. This is it. Harley gets a chance to be an actress again! Smooth-talking and schmoozing is the only way in here. Bodies will result in a rapid NYPD and private security response like no other. How she manages... well. That's half the fun. Harley has spent all day researching the place, digging through city records (which are public domain!!) for the floor plan of the apartment, and contact old contacts in NYCs underworld for details on 'guard schedules'. Because who doesn't want to rob the sphynx! She puts together her equipment in the back of a prestine white van with 'ABC Cable' on the side. Everything about her planning seems logical, precise, and actually kind of brilliant. A part of the job that usually doesn't fall to her! In her duffle bag is tools for, you guessed it, installing cable and on her clipboard, because who doesn't want a clipboard, is the name of Marcus Anthony: A high priced defense attourney who lives two floors below the Cat and worked the case of one Tony 'Zero Bing' Carbazo. A hitman for the mafia who owes Harley a favor. So now Anthony owes Harley a favor, when Carbazo contacts him to say they offered him a plea in favor of turning states evidence against his employer, which would implicate Marcus as well, unless of course he calls 'ABC to get cable instilation'. Enter Harley, her hair all twisted up beneath her little black hat with the logo on the front, ringing the door bell while chewing some bubble gum loud by her back teeth. "ABC Cable for Mistah..." Glancing down at the clipboard, told you it would be important, "Marcus Anthony, room twenty oh six five two." Driving through the front gate requires a bit of checking, and they even call Mr. Anthony to confirm he ordered such a service. Of course, he affirms such was the case. Directions are given to the penthouse in question, with Harley given a temporary ID tag and a written slip of paper. Once she parks herself outside the tall apartment building, the doorman scans her ID tag, coming back positive. In she goes. The guards intercept her next. Looking at the paper, one moves to the phone, dialling up Mr. Anthony while the other flirts rather brazenly. He's pretty cute. They don't hire ugly guards, in the rich parts of town. With everything coming back squeaky clean, the two guards move to the elevator, swiping the door and the punching in the floor in question. Once Harley's inside, it's just a metal tube, with a glorious armoured window view of the city behind. The door opens hurriedly, and a rather dishevelled Marcus Anthony would pull Harley inside. Somewhat elderly, toupee askew, he seems more antagonized than anything else, wiping sweat from his forehead with a hundred dollar handkerchief. "Wh,what's this all about?! Why do you want in my apartment for?!" She's still two floors below the Cat; tenth level. But hey. He's got a large external balcony. And Harley's always been a good climber, hasn't she...? Getting to the building and trying to climb up would have been a no-go, especially because only floors six to ten have such exterior accommodations. Harley is good under pressure because these guys are not nearly as scary as her home life. When using the wrong kind of cheese in a grilled sandwich could get you twenty minutes on the 'rack', dealing with rent a cops (even very well played Rent a cops) becomes a little less disconcerting. Her bag is hoisted up on her arm and she plays flirty with the cute guy, even getting his number for whatever future aims she might require of his services! Maybe she'll move in. Then she's in the boom tube to Anthony's apartment and yanked inside like he's worried Batman might have hijacked the CCTV feed for the apartment. First things first, she pulls off her cap and ruffles out her hair so the long blonde locks hang like a curtain around her face. "Relax!" She yells at him when his voice gets all nervous Nelly, "Imma jus' scoot up stairs an' have a convo wit your neighbor, then bang pow, Bob's your uncle, you're free to go back to warmin' your house by burnin' hundred dollar bills." She pinches his cheek and unzips her jump suit. Beneath she's wearing her corset and leather pants. Kneeling down she unzips her bag and pulls out the various tools needed to install cable... grounding belt with gloves, check. The harness is thrown on over her shoulders and the gloves pulled on over her palms. Plyers, check. Two hundred feet of cable wire? Check. The plyers are fixed into a hook position and some of the cord is looped through the bottom ring while the rest of the cord is leaced through her harness on her way out to Marcus' balcony. "Periodically I want ya to shout for me to hurry, then push play on..." audio record from her tight back pocket is tossed to him. "This. Jus' incase someone is listenin' in." When he tests it later it will be of her saying, 'Don't rush me, I'm a professional' and 'Yellin' at me wont make a signal run faster'. On the balcony she whirls the makeshift grapel and hurls it upwards to clank on the balcony just below the Cats and starts her assent. "Upsta... you mean, Shen Kuei?! Are,are you insane?! Why are you trying to break in THERE?! I'm not--not going to be part--" He stutters off the rest of the threat, being a long distance from Harley. In the end he shuts up. She'll kill him for no reason, and when she has a goal, nothings stopping her. Least of all common sense. He can hope that he clamped up in time for her to take no more notice. Anthony takes the device with the dejected look of a man utterly defeated. It could be worse, he keeps telling himself. It could have been the actual Joker. ...That's about it, though. She tends to laugh at murder more than commit it... right? "Of... course..." The grapple manages to sink into the balcony on the tenth floor; it's much larger and broader than the rest, being the most expensive in the joint and all. It's no difficulty to slither up, and she'd indeed hear a very bad attempt at yelling at her now and then. Ugh, that man needs to loosen up and learn how to act properly. Once she scrambles upon the balcony proper outside Shen Kuei's penthouse, there's a couple stone benches, carefully tended plants, and a couple ornate statues of cats. He'd get along well with Selina. There's a locked sliding glass door, showing a darkened living room of sorts. But further past, in a room her blueprints would indicate as his workout room, a light can be seen. Harley glances back through the window at Anthony from where she dangles a few feet above his window and the look isn't her usual 'oh look you have a booger on your nose', either: it's one of outright purposeful intent to destroy someone utterly if they don't shut up. Which is probably the reason he does. In a lot of ways, Harley is 'scarrier' than the Joker. He's unpredictable, but his goals are generally well defined. Harley's rarely, if ever, make any sense. She probably is here to talk Shen into helping her break Joker out, but she could just as easily be wanting to watch his television so she doesn't miss One Tree Hill reruns. Maybe people don't think that's scary, but when she's okay with climbing some stories up the side of a building after blackmailing a lawyer into letting her into one of the most well defended, expensively security, apartments in New York, it probably goes a little bet further than 'she's so crraaazzzy'. She swings her legs over the balcony wall and lands with a gymnasts delicacy. Quiet as a field mouse as she creeps over to the window and swings her bag around to take out a brand new tool.. an electrical meter with a red and black prongs. Her eyes dart around the interior of the apartment, but she's going about testing for an electrical charge running through the joints near the four sides of the big bay windows, a charge needed to power any security that may be installed.. If she finds none, she uses a pair of thin wire snips to slip them through the crack in the sliding glass door to run the razor sharp cutting edge through the bolt holding it closed. Indeed, there's an electrical circuit going through the window. But it's not the most advanced sort in the world. Simple to bypass, really; just a special rubber-like clamp over each of the four corners will shut it off from detecting the rest of the window, without raising any alarms. With the methodical patience of a true home invader, Harley ends up severing a large opening within the large window, but it would probably require a comical catch to prevent it from falling and shattering, which would certainly draw attention. Security schematics show the house does have a full suite of security measures indoors, but she can see the panel blinking red, which means none of them are on. Not surprising. Shen Kuei is home. She could slip within thereafter, without issue. Truly pompously outfitted. Pictures of large felines are on the walls, a couple leather chairs facing an obscenely-sized television, Asian-style tall paper and wood privacy covers are against some walls with intricate paintings of tigers, and a Persian rug upon a wood panelled floor. The only thing that might catch Harley off-guard is the slender black feline sitting prim and proper on the back of the couch, looking at her; one eye blue, one eye green. The tail flits to and fro, but it makes no sound. A wayward 'meow' might ruin her entire... ...what IS her plan, anyway? Never without a comedic gag item, Harley knows she brought 'something' with her. Patting her pockets after a search through her bag reveals only 'uncomical' items that would work just as well.. until, she squeezes her boobs together and glances down into her cleavage. 'Ah ha!' she mouths and pulls out a pair of pink fuzzy handcuffs. YES, she has pink fuzzy handcuffs between her breasts. Doesn't everyone? She clips one end to something above the window, then clips it to one of the brackets to keep it in place after slipping inside and coming face to face with opulence the likes of which she's only seen on Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. Robin Leach was so smexy. His voice, gawd. 'no, no time for thinking about sexy british accents, girly! There's a cat to deal with! Her nemesis!' 'Do something homoerrotic, so Selina, who does not yet know she's your homoerrotic nemesis, knows that she is about to be your homoerrotic nemesis.' "shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" She stresses without actually making any noise at all. Just that face someone makes when they're making that noise. Lips all puckered, eyes all squinty. Finger over her lips. 'Good job.' So much for brilliant planning. Harley tip toes past the cat and heads directly for the kitchen, pulling open the fridge. "Hey, Imma grab a bo- is this fifty dollar imported water?" Harley calls out, she's inside now, so there's no reason to put up the pretenses of being a career burgler. "...Meow." The cat says it very quietly. Almost inaudible. Curious, perhaps. A few moments later, the lights flick on within the main living area and the kitchen. Beautiful counter tops with dark marble house every sort of device. Countless knives within a fine holder, each of which Zsasz would drool over. All of it looks remarkably pristine, actually. "...Hmm?" comes the voice of Shen Kuei, stepping out to glance towards the kitchen proper. He wears only a black pair of loose pants, otherwise bare. Black tattoo on full display, hair dishevelled and body drenched in sweat, that black tattoo of international fame on full display. Footsteps inaudibly take him in deeper, his cat leaping up to stretch across his shoulders. "...Ms. Quinn. May I help you?" Harley reaches in for a bottle because climbing a building is thirsty work. She twists off the cap and guzzles it with a look of admiration for the quality of the water within, "You've got taste! Not that water has any taste, but if it had a taste, I bet this would taste pretty great..." She drinks more and strolls into the living room. If there's little coaster on the table, she'll put one down and set her glass atop it, then pull her bag of gear from her shoulder and slide it over to Shen Kuei. "That's one million dollars in crisp one dollar bills." She informs him. Then plops down on his couch with a big grin. Ankles crossing on the edge of his table, eyes cast back over her shoulder, "I was wonderin' if you wanted some work. Basically, I think it would be pretty funny if you help't me break the Joker out of Arkham." Honesty is the best policy, she always says. "By beatin' people up with your haaaaayaaaaaa skills." "That's water imported from a particular spring deep in Japan. It is not mundane. It contains many trace elements and nutrients destroyed in the filtration process." Which means it's difficult to acquire and import, but apparently the Cat is rather casual about home invasion, when there's no hostilities involved. His black feline companion continues to watch, as if he was the sceptic here. The bag flumped on the table is eyeballed. Unzipping it, he starts rifling through. "...These aren't stacked. ...And many of them have blood. ...And this is not nearly enough. If bound in half-inch stacks of 100 dollars each -- which these obviously are not -- then it would stack up on a standard forklift palette to nearly four feet." It's still a relatively respectable sum, to people who might feel something into the thousands is sufficient. "Feet off the table." is stated firmly. His cat leaps off, running along the back of the second couch, opposite Harley. Although when the point of it all comes out, there's an 'ah.' One digit. "For one thing, breaking into my penthouse is not how you hire me." A second finger extends. "Two, this is not nearly enough money to invade Arkham." A third. "Three, I work on a two-point bidding system. That means if you wish me to break out the Joker, a second unaffiliated party would have to agree to it, and could contribute money, if they desire. I will then contact parties interested in NOT having the Joker broken out. If they pay me more, then I won't. Only if a party cannot be found and a clause in my contract is paid, can this step be bypassed." After a moment, "I assume a man like Bruce Wayne can easily surpass the most you could muster up. Not that I would mind such a simple source of income..." Harley flops her feet down off the table, but it has more to do with standing up sharply than being told to remove them. "Oh come'on! If you tell them we're breakin' in, then they jus' tell the authorities and they're waitin' for me!" She flails, dramatically, like this is the most rediculously rediculous thing she's ever heard! She strolls around the edge of the couch and peeks down into the bag, rifling a finger through the crumpled, oft bloody, bills. "Mmm.. okay, so math was never my strong suit, but seriously... wouldn't you rather have a real challenge? I mean, breakin' into Arkham..." Not exactly glamorous work. Plus Batman. Also Conflict of Interests. "I didn't break in! Okay, maybe I did, but would you have met with me if I'd jus' sent a message? And where would I have sent the message?" Because emails are a lot more difficult to get than apartment addresses. Nobody sends mail anymore. Shen Kuei continues to observe Harley, still the apex of being calm and rational. "The authorities knowing I'm coming wouldn't stop me, even if I was so overt about the process. And... I only ask people if I believe they have both the money and the desire to keep me uninvolved." Posting it on a blog would certainly not have gotten him the reputation he has, to say the least. "..." No comment on the challenge aspect. He does enjoy those. "Okay. You are a little excited." the Cat finally offers. One hand lifts to the side, shifting in an almost hypnotic manner. Were Harley to glance at it, Shen Kuei would already be settled behind her in that split second of distraction. Attempting to strike five points on her back with a single knuckle. A devastating attack? No. A simple pressure point treatment, oft used in non-bogus acupuncture, that releases pent-up stress like a deflating balloon. Harley is all kinds of excited! She used a lot of her smart to get in here only to find that her grand scheme wa-oooooooooooh... The knuckles stabbing into her pressure points has her a little concerned until all the pent up aggitation goes away like water off the back of a rain coat. She blinks a few times and looks around at Shen, about as calm as she's been in a very long time. Even the voices have stopped being negative for a few seconds. "How about I give you one million dollars in crisp one dollar bills jus' to come by an' punch me in the back every couple months?" The offer is, probably strange, but even more that she's serious. Sorta. Two hands heavily plop on Harley's shoulders, thumbs working magic. As if her entire body was beginning to melt into a pool of relaxation. "Yes, some people pay me a large sum for treatments." he admits. "Or training. Or companionship. If you are interested in such things, here is my card." A flick; despite not having a shirt, there's a crisp dark gray business card, with an embossed black cat identical to the tattoo upon it. The back has a phone number, and nothing else. "An intermediary can go over my prices. If genuinely interested and showing proof of the required amount, that is how you meet me." "I have been lead to believe that Mr. Joker is capable of leaving at his leisure. If he remains there, it must be by choice. I apologize if that has left you without an outlet." He picks up the dufflebag, once more examining it. "If you'd like, I can offer you three thirty-minute sessions for this amount to be scheduled through the number. A special discount. Massage, good drink, conversation, sparring, you can do with it what you wish. Then, your time is not wasted. Hmm?" "Holy Mary Mother of God..." Harley's shoulders are puddy beneath the puddy clay molding fingers of the Chi master. Her legs go all weak and she slumps down to the ground only to catch herself before falling. "Uh, yeah... uh..." Twitching. She takes the card and looks at it, flips it and reads, flips it and reads. Flips it and reads. She's stalling. Who could blame her? He might stop if she stops reading. She's a doctor. With that, Shen Kuei suddenly smacks his open palms on Harley's shoulders. She'd feel hale again, if rather physically much better than usual. Probably a wound-up spring at all times, with her normal outlet being impulsive violence. So unhealthy. Whoever might have trained her to do that? The dufflebag is grasped, shifted to be tossed aside against a wall. Moving back within the kitchen, the Cat shuffles around in the fridge before coming out with a small box. "Here. Sushi I prepared. Imported ingredients. Quite fresh." He'd move to plop it into Harley's hands. "Do let me know when you'd like your future appointments. Now... given your rather identifiable outfit... I recommend leaving the way you came. I don't think you managed to get this far dressed as you are." Sushi, does Harley even like sushi? Probably, she has had it before that much she knows. Back when she was human, back before things made so much sense. The box is flipped open and one of the little wrapped seaweed delights is tossed into her mouth. The flavor, the explosion of little spices and herbs with fresh cut octopus and seasime rice, has her eyes rolling and moaning absolute enjoyment. "Uh, yeah... I guess, probably not..." She considers tossing another in her mouth, but thinks better of it. She'll let Mistah J try one, he'll be so happy! Glancing out the window, she shrugs and trots towards the open sliding door. "You can keep the cuffs!" Pointing to them. "An' my people will contact your people!" Her leg goes over the railing and she slides all the way down to the floor she originated from. Anthony, probably glad she's arrived without Shen with her to punch him to death. "Okay." An extra bag is pulled out of her jump suits pocket, filled with some of Marcus' valuables to give it the appropriate weight and her hair is all twisted back up underneath her cap. "Hope you enjoy your cable." She actually did install it, by the way. Really just video recordings of him consorting with criminal elements. As she steps out towards her van, smiling at the security guard whose number she got and slips up into her van. "It was a pleasure, Ms. Quinn." Shen Kuei offers, walking over to look at the handcuffs keeping his dessicated window in some semblance of a single piece. A narrow wire is procured, unlocking them carefully before leaning the pane against the wall. His cat is sitting near now, glancing up at the Cat. "...Yes, but what was I do to?" he offers. Out on the balcony he watches the van idly speeding away, hands behind his back. That was a situation where there was no real way to win. Harley is a direct link to the Joker. Alone, she can be reasoned with, to an extent. But that white spectre... no. Never. Ultimately, he doesn't know whether beating her senseless and throwing her to the police to join him in Arkham, or having her leave happy, was the correct decision. Maybe there WAS none, and it will simply depend on his mood at the time. No matter. Entering his main room once more, he picks up a phone and dials a number. "I need a window in my penthouse repaired. No questions asked." Hanging up immediately after, he walks back towards his training room, slowly flexing his muscles. Nothing to do now but see what the tides of fate bring... Category:Log